In the sky, the light screen that had reflected the bloody finale was quietly erased by an invisible hand. It faded, then dissolved, restoring the familiar, slightly overcast heavens.
After two relentless hours, the story ended in an instant. Yet the final frozen frame—Kuchiba Hiro glancing back from the forest shadows, that smile mixing mockery, understanding, and a hint of playful malice—seared itself into every viewer's mind like a red-hot brand, impossible to shake.
A momentary hush fell, then the internet erupted in a tsunami of commentary.
"Holy crap!!! That last smile!!! Goosebumps all over!"
"I said I wouldn't kill your whole family, and I meant it. But if you can't live with yourself and jump off a building, that's not my problem~ (¬‿¬)"
"Right on! That's true psychological murder! Physical death is nothing—making you destroy yourself is next-level savagery!"
"Too brutal… way too brutal… He left Yukinoshita Yukino alive, but it wasn't mercy. He knew that after being betrayed by her mother, publicly disowned by her father, and forced to watch every relative die, the pampered 'little white rabbit' would never find the courage to keep living."
"I thought he was just venting when he cursed her out. Now I see every word stabbed her deepest insecurities—he was dismantling her mind piece by piece!"
"The gap between people's mindsets is wider than the gap between humans and dogs. We're stuck on level one plotting revenge; Godfather's already on level five scripting our suicide. Your breakdown, your despair, your final choice—all calculated, every step guided by him."
"At first I thought he was savage; now I'm just… terrified! This precision in reading and weaponizing human nature is ten thousand times scarier than any superpower!"
"Godfather for the win!!! (voice cracking)"
"This isn't revenge anymore—it's a perfectly designed dissection of human weakness. The Yukinoshita Family became the sacrificial exhibit of his terrifying insight."
"I now believe he can find the ark and blow it to bits… With a mind like that, what on earth could stop him?"
"Taking notes! This is true mental domination! Next time someone guilt-trips or emotionally blackmails me, I'll channel this move."
Online, awe, dread, worship, and marrow-deep shock intertwined. Kuchiba Hiro's moniker 'Godfather' was set in stone, colored by a cult-like reverence.
He hadn't merely wrought physical revenge; he had delivered absolute spiritual domination. He made everyone realize that, to some -ordinary feelings, struggles, even lives, are variables to be calculated, manipulated, predicted.
And Yukinoshita Yukino, who leapt to her death exactly as he foresaw, became—through countless eyes—the chilling footnote to that cognitive abyss.
The light screen vanished, yet that wicked smile and the cold logic behind it lingered, provoking deeper reflection and… ineffable shudders.
Back in the real world: Sōbu High School.
When the screen faded, it left more than gossip; it left invisible, crushing pressure—especially on those tied to its characters.
In the faculty office, Hiratsuka Shizuka's cigarette had burned to the filter unnoticed. Her phone vibrated, the name 'Yukinoshita Haruno' on the screen. She stared, as though peering through the glass at the precocious, exhausted girl beyond, then answered.
"Hello, Teacher Hiratsuka. Sorry to bother you," Haruno said, her voice carefully composed yet roughened by a hint of strain.
"It's fine, Haruno. Go ahead," Hiratsuka replied, steadying her tone.
After brief pleasantries, Haruno ventured, cautious and pleading: "Teacher… could you… please talk to Yukino? Try to guide her? I… I'm really worried." She didn't specify why; the image of Yukino's final plunge hovered like a nightmare in both their minds.
Hiratsuka Shizuka sighed; she had been thinking the same thing. "I understand. Don't worry—I was planning to check on her myself." She paused, then, unable to hold back, added as both an educator and a witness to that "family dissection," "Haruno, I know it may be out of line for an outsider to say this… but your family… perhaps it's time for some change? You can't… always leave Yukino to shoulder everything alone. You know what I mean."
Silence stretched over the line for a moment, broken only by soft breathing. Several seconds passed before Haruno's dry, almost embarrassed reply came: "…Yes. You're right. We… will change." The promise sounded weightless, carrying the customary distance of an upper-class family that never bares its true thoughts, yet also a helplessness at having been seen through.
Hiratsuka Shizuka rubbed her temples after hanging up, a deep weariness settling in. The cruelty shown on the light screen seemed to be seeping, drop by drop, into reality.
Across campus, the atmosphere in the classroom was equally unsettling.
In real life, Kuchiba Hiro sat quietly at his desk; classmates stole glances at him from the corners of their eyes, their gazes mixing curiosity, fear, and an indescribable aloofness.
He was slightly surprised by the version of "himself" on the light screen and that final, soul-crushing revenge—an icily calculated strike at the heart that surpassed anything he had imagined. Yet on reflection, it didn't feel entirely unexpected: if his father had truly been murdered and he'd been driven to the brink, who could swear they wouldn't turn into a demon?
'Thank goodness—Dad's still alive.' The thought let him breathe easier. He hadn't tasted that bone-deep hatred; he couldn't fully put himself in those shoes of ultimate cruelty. His dad hadn't died, so his world hadn't collapsed. He still had the everyday worries of an "ordinary" student—like this damned hold-over class.
A teacher stepped in, first flicking an almost imperceptible, assessing glance toward Kuchiba Hiro, then announced evenly, "Due to… the sky screen just now, the afternoon schedule's been adjusted. School's extended—two more periods."
"Whaaat—?!"
"You've got to be kidding!"
"It's already three-thirty!"
Groans erupted. Freedom had been postponed from 3:30 to 4:30, a bitter blow to students who'd been counting the minutes.
Ignoring the complaints, the teacher added, "Ten-minute break. Be back on time." With that, he left.
The moment the door shut, Kuchiba Hiro stood. That single motion carried an invisible pressure; chatter died. Every pair of eyes, openly or covertly, fixed on him.
He rolled a stiff neck with a soft crack, utterly indifferent to the attention, and walked straight out. No one spoke; no one met his gaze.
He had been isolated without a word.
The labels the light screen had pinned on him—"high-IQ," "scheming," "can read minds at a glance"—made classmates instinctively wary.
Everyone wants to hide their weaker, uglier sides. Who'd linger before someone who seems able to spot every hidden flaw? It feels like standing under a searchlight with nowhere to hide.
Like attracts like. Most people instinctively seek the comfort of their own kind. To them, Kuchiba Hiro looked like a lone wolf in a flock of sheep—or a great white among sardines. His mere presence shattered the unspoken equilibrium of "normal" and left many uneasy, tense.
Only when he vanished through the doorway did the invisible pressure lift; the room exhaled in unison. Whispered complaints started up again, yet they carried a lingering, complicated aftertaste of the figure who had just walked out.
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